Ronny

After having drinks with my wife's Italian relatives in the backyard of my in-law's, Shea began playing with a toy cellphone.  She lounged in a white molded plastic lawn chair, talking absentmindedly into the headset.  She said things like, "Thanks, Ronny," and "Yes, Ronny," and hung up shortly afterward.

She milled around the yard a bit until she wound up next to me with an exasperated look on her face.

"What's up, honey," I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and tipped her head into my shoulder, kicking at a loose pebble at her feet.

"Who is Ronny?"

"My husband."

Taken by surprise, it took me a moment to respond.  I shook my head, my bottom lip jutting out like I'd just heard a fascinating bit of information, and said, "Is he nice?"

Shea sighed dramatically, like the relationship was on the rocks and she was debating her long term plans, and said, "He's obsessed with work."

I successfully managed to not burst out laughing on the spot, not wanting to spoil her fantasy, and told her that I didn't think that was a good thing.  Shea didn't appear to mind as she then skipped away into the grass where she picked a couple of blades and sprinkled them onto the sleeping dog's head.